lethal
by arcaneLuminary
Summary: No one cared that I didn't know what I was capable of. That I didn't know what I was doing.
1. Isolation

I've been locked up for 264 days.

I have nothing but a small notebook and a broken pen and the numbers in my head to keep me company. 1 window. 4 walls. 144 square feet of space. 26 letters in an alphabet. I haven't spoken in 264 days of isolation.

6,336 hours since I've touched another human being.

"You're getting a roommate." they said to me.

"For good behavior." they said to me.

"No more isolation." they said to me.

They are the minions of the Reestablishment. The initiative that was supposed to help our dying region. The same people who pulled me out of my parent's home and locked me in an asylum for something outside of my control. No one cares that I didn't know what I was capable of. That I didn't know what I was doing.

I have no idea where I am.

I only know that I was transported by someone in a white van who drove 6 hours and 37 minutes to get me here. I know I was handcuffed to my seat. I know I was strapped to my chair. I know my parents never bothered to say goodbye. I know I didn't cry as I was taken away.

I know the sky falls down every day.

The sun drops into the ocean and splashes browns and yellows and oranges and reds into the world outside my window. A million leaves from a million different branches dip in the wind, fluttering with the false promise of flight. The gust catches their withered wings only to force them downward, forgotten, to be trampled by the soldiers stationed just below.

There aren't as many trees as before, is what the scientists are saying. That our world used to be green. Our clouds used to be w h i t e, like purity and cleanliness. Our sun was always the right kind of light. But I have no memories of that world. I don't remember anything from before. The only existence I know now is the one I was given.

An echo of what I used to be.


	2. A Boy

I press my palm to the small pane of glass and feel the cold clasp my hand in a familiar embrace. We are both alone, both existing as the absence of something else.

I grab my nearly useless pen with the very little ink I've learned to ration each day and stare at it. Change my mind. Abandon the effort it takes to write things down. Having a cellmate might be okay. Talking to a real human might make things easier. I practice using my voice, shaping my lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to my mouth. I practice all day.

I'm surprised I remember how to speak.

I roll my little notebook into a cylinder I shove into the wall. I sit up on the cloth cothered springs I'm forced to sleep on.

I wait.

I rock back and forth and I wait.

...But I wait too long...

...And I fall asleep.

* * *

><p>I awake to 2 eyes 2 lips 2 ears 2 eyebrows.<p>

I stifle my scream, my urgency to run, the crippling horror gripping my limbs.

"You're a b-b-b-b-"

"And you're a girl." He cocks an eyebrow. He leans away from my face. He grins but he's not smiling and I want to cry, my eyes desperate, terrified, darting towards the door I've tried to open too many times to count. They locked me up with a boy. A boy.

Dear God.

They're trying to kill me.

They've done it on purpose.

To torture me, to torment me, to keep me from ever sleeping again. His sleeves are tattered up, cut off at his elbows. Dark blue hair icy blue eyes sharp jawline strong thin frame. Dangerous. Gorgeous. Horrible. Captivating.

He laughs and I fall off my bed and scuttle into the corner.

He sizes up the meager pillow on the spare bed they shoved into the empty space this morning, the skimpy mattress and threadbare blanket hardly big enough to support his upper half. He glaces at my bed. Glances at his bed.

He shoves them both together with one hand. Uses his foot to push the two metal frames to his side of the room. Stretches out across the two mattresses, grabbing my pillow to fluff out under his neck. I've begun to shake.

I bite my lip and try to bury myself into the dark corner.

He's stolen my blanket and my pillow.

I have nothing but the floor.

I will have nothing but the floor.

I will never fight back because I'm too petrified too paralyzed too paranoid.

* * *

><p>"So you're -what? Insane? Is that why you're here?"<p>

He props himself up enough to see my face. He laughs again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I don't believe him.

_I want to believe him._

"What's your name?" he asks.

I hear his irritated exhalation of breath after the long minutes of silence. I hear him turn over on the bed that used to be half-mine. I stay awake all night. My knees curled up to my chin, my arms wrapped tight around my small fram, my plume of sheer golden hair the only curtain between us.

I will not sleep.

I cannot sleep.

I cannot hear those screams again.


End file.
